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In her heart, she knew she would never again marry for the sake of marriage, and she began to withdraw from society. She even turned down visits from Jean. Anna was quite surprised one day when the butler approached with news of a visitor who refused to be sent away.

Louisa herself went to the door to instruct the person to leave, but the words caught in her throat.

Jonathan, a small smile on his face, handed her a hatbox. “I do hope you will make an exception. Your butler made it quite clear you aren’t receiving visitors, but…”

She bid him enter, and they made themselves comfortable in the parlor. Louisa had not been eating well since she learned of her husband’s passing. Yet, she found herself both able to eat and drink in Jonathan’s company. They talked about everything that had transpired during the time they had been apart. Jonathan had done all he could to salvage his family name and even redoubled their worth from before his father gambled it all away. Truly, Louisa cared little to talk about money matters. He carried no ill toward her for marrying the duke; after all, he had practically told her to. Most importantly, the love that had blossomed before had clearly never died.

* * *

1812

Anna’s mother seemed lost in her memories, her gaze almost vacant. “Jonathan handed me the hatbox, and inside was not a hat after all but letters. He, too, had written me each day, but likewise, he had not sent them. And so we gave each other the letters we had written and stayed up all night reading them.”

Anna sighed happily. “So you married him.”

“Yes, and it was a slight scandal after all because I did not wait long to marry him. Tongues will wag and spin tales, but you were born well after a year into our marriage. No one could claim that pregnancy hastened our steps. We wed that Christmas, and Jonathan promised he would be the only man to give me kisses at Christmas or any other time of the year.”

“So Jonathan is my father?” Anna shook her head. “But Father’s name was Ludlow.”

“Oh, yes.” Her mother waved her hand. “His full name was Ludlow Jonathan. He hated Ludlow, and I never cared for it either, so I always called him Jonathan instead.”

Anna sat back in her seat. “You’ve known love, true love then.”

The smile on her mother’s face was beautiful. “Yes.”

“So how can you ask me to give up my love when you… Why, just recently Aunt Augusta wrote inThe Teatime Tattlerthat—”

For some reason, her mother’s smile transformed into a smirk.

“—love is always worth believing in, that hope should never die, that… Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, no reason at all.” Her mother waved her hand. “Do carry on.”

“Aunt Augusta has always believed love will win the day, that no circumstances will prevent… Your expression.” Anna tapped her clasped hands to her chin. “You know who Aunt Augusta is?”

Aunt Augusta was one of Anna’s favorite columnists inThe Teatime Tattler. Ladies and gentlemen from all over wrote to her for advice, solid advice. Anna had not once disagreed with the advice Aunt Augusta had dispensed. Sometimes, she read the column and imagined writing to her herself, for help with her own predicament.

Never before had Anna thought who might be penning the column, but now she burned with curiosity. “Who is it?” she asked.

“My dear, can you be trusted to keep a secret?”

“Oh,” Anna said faintly as realization stole her breath away. “You do not merely know Aunt Augusta. You are she! How can you dare to voice displeasure to me but then use your quill to give other ladies hope? Why do you care for them more—”

“I care for no one as much as I care for you. Believe me when I say that I have heard nothing good concerning your duke. I have the sources to hear every whisper, and the wisdom and knowledge to determine the facts from the untruths.”

Anna shook her head. “Have you even spoken with the duke yourself? How can you profess to know him when you have not?”

But her mother continued on as if Anna had not spoken. “I would never send him away like my mother did with your father even if I could. I do not want my daughter, who is more in love with the idea of being in love than in actual love, to make a tragic mistake.”

Anna had heard enough. She slid to her feet, her hands turning into fists that clutched her skirt. “You think I am nothing but a foolish girl. I have read much. I am learned. And I do know love.”

She swept out of the room, disgusted with her mother and herself. Had her mother the right of it? Countless ladies had sought out Aunt Augusta’s advice, and she herself had always thought the advice solid and sound.

Could she believe that her mother’s advice in this instance was genuine? Or was it colored by her role in the situation?

Either way, Anna had much and more to consider.

And so, she threw herself into her charity work. She avoided any kind of gathering until she might be able to get her thoughts sorted. Until she could more impartially attempt to discern her true feelings toward the duke and toward the marchioness’s son. Days passed, weeks too, and still, she did not change her opinions about either gentleman.